


Lasting Mark

by DevilOfWire



Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [24]
Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Characters, Anal Sex, Bottom Marco Diaz, Branding, Caught, Crossdressing, Demon, Established Relationship, Feminization, Frottage, Hell, Kinktober 2020, Large Cock, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, One Shot, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, Smut, Sweat, Teasing, Top Tom Lucifor, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27189097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: 24. Sweat | Branding | MasturbationMarco hates to say it, but Hell is rather… boring. No tortured souls, instead it’s just the torture of paperwork and cold bureaucracy.Suffice to say, the week-long “vacation” there has been the longest week of his life—both literally and figuratively—so when he finally gets some time to himself, he intends to enjoy it.His demon boyfriend upon discovering what he’s doing in sacred land, though? Not so pleased.Until he is.
Relationships: Marco Diaz/Tom Lucitor
Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950421
Comments: 2
Kudos: 121
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Lasting Mark

**Author's Note:**

> **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> A slightly more permanent sequel ;D

Tom had had a long day in Hell.

Sure, it was Hell, where the sun was never not hanging right in the centre of the red sky, boiling everything to magma and death, but that didn’t mean it still couldn’t feel like a long day sometimes.

Of course, time was a funny concept in the first place for dimensions outside of the bore that was Earth, so it could have been just a few minutes. But a few minutes in his father’s presence spent arguing only as a devil and his son could, was more than he could handle in an entire immortal lifetime, usually.

So, upon the vague, immeasurable trip that it took to get from The Lord of Hell’s palace back to a more modern-style inn that they were staying in instead, Tom made a decision:

This would be the last day in Hell. How many days it had really been was hard to say, but that didn’t matter, because they were going to be leaving.

Now.

So he entered the inn, through the confusing maze of halls to the rooms they had booked. The entire time, his voice was still itching from that shouting match with his dad, feeling entirely sapped of all the energy and joy which he never had in the first place at his family saying that “it had been too long”, and so he “just had to come down for a visit”.

Ugh, family. Couldn’t have been born without them, but also couldn’t stand all of eternity with them.

And only after finally pinning down the room and undoing multiple DNA identifying, complex puzzles of mechanical locks, did he open the door.

He could only look in the room dumbly, thinking nothing of returning home, as always.

But it was when he blinked, turned his head, and took a step inside, that he realized something was off.

Very, very off.

Namely, that there was music. Very loud, poppy music that he wasn’t sure how in the world he didn’t hear from down the hall, but whatever. He was obviously pre-occupied with very important, complaining thoughts.

Now, though, more speculative ideas formed in his head, as he quietly shut the door behind himself.

It had to be Marco, right? The one saving grace in this boring, miserable plane, with more legal squabbles than there were good, bloody ones.

Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be good and bloody, but anyway, that’s not the point-

The real point was, where was Marco?

Clearly, not in the living room, as Tom turned only to find it not even with a sign of life. Must have cleaned the mess the demon made this morning, although that had been less rage, more trying to find the best place in the room to pin his boyfriend down so he could suck the living soul from him. In a blow job sense, rather than the usual.

Maybe that thought would later ease the blow somewhat.

But for now, his weary feet took him naturally to the only other room than the bathroom:

His personal favourite, the bedroom.

He might have expected the human to be sleeping—something Tom gladly didn’t need to waste seven hours on every day—if not for that loud, girly music growing even louder, as he neared its source.

Rounding the corner, it was then that he saw it, in all of its glory.

And its debauchery.

In the Earth week that they’d spent here, they’d had plenty of sex. Obviously. They already had more than was probably healthy in the overworld, so how could it not be even more, underground, in the world of sinners?

But, thankfully, Marco was no ordinary, boring sinner. No tax evasion or petty crimes that would be answered in eons of community service, but the nice, proper, Biblical sinner.

He was a whore.

Not literally, but he sure could act like it.

Especially now, that he does something he hasn’t done for months, so hedonistic and selfish that it instantly filled Tom with a whirlwind of emotions, shock quickly becoming a torment of blinding rage, as he made his presence known, by slamming the door all the way open so hard that it not only broke the door, but also put a crack in the wall.

But he wasn’t worried about things like down payments, as he glared to the tan skin of the human only now going still.

His small, manicured hand still three fingers deep inside of himself, thighs spread wide to either side, allowing a perfect few of his mostly nude, vulnerable body.

But oh, what he’s wearing isn’t all that much better.

If anything, it’s worse. A light pink bra lying upon his flat chest, supporting nothing, only serving to make him look ridiculous, especially as one of his hands pushed one cup aside to play with own nipple, just like a female might.

Despite how odd it is, seeing a man in woman’s clothing, filling rapidly with rage at the sight of him pleasuring himself without so much as asking his master, Tom feels his cock surge in his tight slacks.

The panties are even worse. A little bikini-like thing, a matching colour of rosy pastel, stretching across what ever-so-slight curve of hips he did have. His left hand only pushes the thin material at his hole aside slightly, either too desperate or too aroused at feeling of them hugging his ass and squeezing his prick to take them off.

Oh, yes, and that was the worst part. How obvious it was—if the short, brown hair, lack of tits, and Adam’s apple weren’t enough—that he was a full-blown man, all coming down to the hard, leaking erection trapped in that cute, girly underwear.

And that is where Tom finds himself, in the present.

Mind racing, heart pounding, a grimace already set on his face with eyes reddening with his demon bloodline’s rage.

But he’s not totally forgone, yet. He can still decide, how to react.

On one hand, he could forgive him entirely. Let it slip.

But that just wasn’t him.

No, he would punish Marco for this, somehow. Surely, that’s what the guy wanted, otherwise why would he do such a thing with the door open, blasting music loud enough to cover up his moans, a blushing smile on his face even as the demon before him is about to explode?

No, Marco surely wanted Tom. Probably his cock, his muscled body to pin him down onto their cushy little bed, fuck him until he was screaming and crying in countless waves of pathetic human orgasms.

So he doesn’t give him that.

Instead, in a literal blink of an eye, Tom’s at the door one second, and then right above him the next, with a flick of his hand turning off that annoying damn music.

Marco looks down to see what’s digging against his belly, and sure enough, it’s that wonderful, massive, angry red cock that he’s been fantasizing about for God knows long now.

He pulls his fingers from himself with a breathy moan, darkened lashes fluttering as he looks up to Tom with a smile of pure embarrassment.

“S-sorry, Tom,” he murmurs, “I-I just got... so bored, it felt like  _ so long, _ y’know?”

Tom only bares his sharp rows of teeth, not a grin, but not a frown, either.

And as Marco’s horny fingers instinctively come for his cock, he slaps them away.

And like an animal, he drags his massive, throbbing cock along the open expanse of Marco’s stomach, all the way up to his chest. Pre-cum leaking from his tip already at the pleasure from the underside of his cock on the other’s pleasantly warm skin, soaking into the cotton of the useless bra he has on.

Marco tries to touch him again, practically drooling—certainly leaking from the other end—at the sight of such a huge tool that could so easily bring him such great pleasure and pain all at once.

But Tom just knocks his hands back to his sides once again, growling something about, “Haven’t you already done enough  _ touching _ for today?”

The demon looks down and sneers at the human, who can only lay there helplessly as his body is used like little more than to drag his cock against and slather in sticky cum. Unable to touch himself, but feeling his prick, hole, twitching at that damned erection just begging to be touched—or, infinitely better, inside of him.

But Tom is nothing but cruel. He is a demon, after all.

So he doesn’t allow his boyfriend to touch him, or himself, for the next, oh, you know how it goes.

It’s probably just a few minutes, in reality, but it feels like a literal eternity to Marco, left to writhe beneath Tom as he uses his body like a merely amusing toy, enjoying himself, but not too much.

Until, finally, he feels the whining, begging, humiliated mess beneath him has had enough. And he’s bored.

So he flips Marco around, with the typical inhuman strength, like a feather-weight pillow being turned from one side to the next by a restless head, repositioning it until it was just right.

But unlike a pillow, Tom gets Marco flat on his stomach, chest and tortuously twitching prick pressed into the bed under his weight. His wrists are pinned to his hips, keeping him from doing anything yet again, but Marco finds that alright.

Because now, he was surely going to get fucked.

... Right?

But as a second turns to many, he starts to have his doubts. Only to get his hopes up once again, moaning as he feels the tell-tale warmth and veiny length of a cock sliding against the fabric of his panties.

They’re already soaked with lube, the hole beneath it surely as ready as it’ll ever be to accept the cock head further slicking everything with his demonic cum.

But he doesn’t just thrust in.

Oh, no. Because Marco knows what he’s done, knows what the punishment is. Their little agreement is, no touching without the other. It was a mutual rule.

It seemed simple enough to Tom, but he guesses his dumb slut of a boyfriend has to be reminded every once in a while, perhaps.

So, he simply does the same thing he’d done to Marco’s front, but now upon his ass. Until he’s all hot and whimpering again, and he finds the act old news.

Then, with a black claw, he pushes the panties to the side.

Marco immediately reacts to the feeling of cool air made warm by Tom’s body by gasping. He arches his back to press his waist and chest against the bed, raising his ass in the air slightly.

Finally, this was it. What he’d been wanting all day, that wonderful, thick, mind-melting cock-

Tom snickers as he merely slides his cock between his ass cheeks. His exposed, pink hole right there and winking at him as it disappears and reappaers behind the meat of his cock, but he does nothing but tease it.

If those two acts were torture before, this is pure, fucking hell.

The best, worst kind of Hell.

Tom groans lowly with his own pleasure. He must admit, this might be primarily to show his slave who’s really in charge here, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get off on it.

Oh, no, he definitely does. Tom would be the first to admit he’s a sadist, because it’s pretty damn obvious. I mean, just look at him, horns and pointy tail and all.

But it’s also the feeling of that wet, soft hole against his cock. Almost as though it was begging to just take him each time he pulled his hips all the way back, teasing the blunt end of his tip against it and finding little resistance. Just one small push away from popping inside of him, and then another larger thrust to bury himself completely.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, Tom finds the idea irresistible, too. But somehow, he manages to remember his fury, hold on so he can keep frotting against his ass, giving him absolutely nothing in the way of pleasure.

Only an indeterminable amount of time later, when Marco’s mewling and crying with tears on his cheeks and drool down his glossed-up lips, sweating in his bra and panties, constantly trying to angle his hips  _ just right _ so Tom can finally slip in, does Tom give in.

And it’s confirmed, as he drops his hips just the slightest bit, lowering himself further to press down on Marco’s sweating body.

Just the smallest change, and the tip of his cock slips right in. The slut.

Marco cries out in pleasure like Tom’s hardly ever heard before, pure euphoria, hands clawing into air as that wonderful, lovely, hard as fuck cock fills his hole better than his imagination could ever conjure up, making him whole again.

But then, Tom does nothing.

Just stays bottomed out inside of him, hot as fire, pulsing with blood, surely there, but not giving him any friction to really make it bliss.

Marco whines again, “pl-please”s and “Tom!”s, but the demon above him just shakes his head. Not daring to move his cock a single millimetre, as his hips keep Marco’s pinned down to the mattress so hard, that he can’t even move a hair and jostle that cock on his prostate, in turn.

Now, this, this was torture.

The seconds turn to minutes, Marco only able to use his voice, mostly just meaningless pleading, but eventually, he’s able to collect himself and ignore that cock in order to form whole sentences once more:

“P-please, Tom,” he begins, just like always. But then he’s able to be slightly more coherent, whimpering against the covers as his boyfriend only laughs at his powerlessness, “I-I... I’m sorry, okay... I know I shouldn’t have, I-I just, I don’t know, g-get so lonely without you, sometimes...”

“Oh?” Tom asks, one of the few words he’d spoken since he’d got home.

“Y-yeah,” Marco says quickly, amazed at merely a response at this point, but trying not to get his hopes up too high. “I always, t-think of you, now, you know? M-maybe it’s not good, but without you, I just... feel so empty. Like I’m m-missing something.

“So please,” Marco sobs, tears making his already beautiful eyes even shinier, prettier, in the hellish red lighting, “f-fuck me. I know I don’t deserve it, b-but... I just... need you, Tom...”

Tom knows he shouldn’t give in to such manipulative ruses as these.

But he does anyway.

It’s so easy, snapping his hips back until just the tip is still inside of his clinging hole, and then crashing down hard, enough to slap against his skin loudly, although it’s all drowned out by Marco’s elated moan.

He fucks him hard and fast, both for his own pleasure which had been mounting because does have needs—somewhere in there—and Marco’s wants, having had such a heart-felt apology and all.

He drives Marco to cum once, only a little after beginning the actual penetrative sex, full-body trembling and squeezing around his cock.

After a short but nearly unbearable refractory period, twice, sobbing and crying as claws pinched at his nipples under his bra.

Three times, only a small spurt of wetness spreading on his stomach, before it was smothered into the covers along with his tears, saliva, sweat.

As they reach for the fourth of that night, Tom slides one hand away from thrusting between his lips moaning around it, all the way down to the human’s ass.

He grabs the flesh there hard enough to leave marks—although not enough to draw blood, he makes sure.

“Do you want it?”

“H-huh?” Marco can barely squeak out, so on the verge of orgasm and all.

Then there was sweltering heat against his ass, enough to make his body try to jump away, only to ultimately fail with the demon crushing him with his full weight and strength.

**“This,”** Tom says, voice going deep and multi-sourced, in a way that tells Marco immediately he’s being possessed by his own self.

Even as he continues fucking hard into the sweat-covered human beneath him, that steady, endless voice pervades,  **“I want to brand you, Marco.”**

“Wh-what?!” Marco just barely has the sense enough to shriek after it registers.

**“It’ll mean,”** he thrusts hard, earning a special keen, so close to cumming yet again,  **“that you’re mine. All mine. No monster or human or anyone can ever have you in all your life, except me.”**

Marco could hardly think, getting his brains fucked out, panties and bra chafing against his skin as Tom continues his assault on his prostate and nipple at once.

But that fire flickering so close to his skin, conjured in Tom’s palm, he understands it.

The heat of it, intense and terrifying, little stray wisps of pure flame trying to lick at his skin peeking out of his panties as though it, too, wanted to destroy him just as Tom was.

Not only would the pain now be immense, but it would stay there, forever. No way of getting rid of it, a permanent mark hidden just beneath shorts or a skirt telling the entire world how fucked he was.

There’s only ever been one answer, really.

“D-do it.”

It’s a single flash, a fraction of a second as Tom opens his palm, spreads his fingers, and then snaps it out.

But it hurts like hell. Literally.

Marco would scream enough to be heard upon Earth, perhaps, if not for the still-sizzling hand that slaps over his mouth, muffling his cry into something still certainly loud, but not ear-shattering.

His skin is immediately burnt, scarred red and quickly turning darker as the cool of the air only serves to further torture it, another smack of Tom’s hips meeting his making his eyes water in agony.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

Because, somehow, some fucking how, Marco had managed to cum at some point. Nothing left to actually ejaculate, but he knows it by the twitching remnants of overstimulation in his ass.

Even Tom might be impressed, but at the thought of what he’d just done—finally branding his love as  _ his,  _ all  **_his,_ ** forever and ever—he blows his load, as well.

Buries his cock in deep one last time, and then spills his immense, demonic semen deep into Marco’s ruined asspussy, biting down on his neck in a hickey that does, in fact, draw a bit of blood.

But he licks it up immediately, shooting round after round of ejaculate into Marco’s insides until he can imagine it all sloshing around inside of him. All Tom’s. That wonderful, awful demon that was somehow his actual boyfriend.

Tom comforts Marco by allowing him plenty of time to recoup, panting as his skin still stings in the fresh air, now utterly soaked in his own sweat and spit, finally able to reach up his arms aching from having been forced to his sides for so long and wiping it away.

Eventually, Marco clears his throat, blinking up to Tom who stares down with some light concern.

“M...” he begins, only to heave another breath—understandable, after all that had happened, but...

“What?” Tom asks, brows furrowing to a point as he genuinely began to worry, one second away from pulling out of him and tending to him as needed.

“M-mirror,” Marco surprises him.

Tom blinks, then understands.

Marco takes the little gold-rimmed hand mirror conjured by his boyfriend—those damned demonic powers had upsides, sometimes—and holds it just right, so the image of his cum-stained, reddened ass is reflected.

Now it’s his turn to be surprised.

Not just a dark circle of charred flesh, as all logic would predict.

But a little insignia, with flames carved out with the dark red of his marred skin against flesh somehow spared, two twin horns curling to the top, a devil’s tail spiralling to the bottom to cement its shape and meaning.

“A heart?” Marco gasps, joyful even as he blinks the last of his tears away and laughs. “Oh, Tom, that’s so cute!”

Tom mutters, “It’s not supposed to be cute...”

But he knows what Marco means, as does Marco know what he means by the brand.

So, for the last time in the otherwise boring land of Hell for hopefully a good, long while, they kiss.

All wrapped up in each other from head to toe, Tom’s fingers partially hiding the mark with a possessive, or protective, hand, they have a good, long, cuddly rest.

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
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> Thanks for reading, as always, hehe! I hope that was cute, and hot, enough! ;D


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